Quiet
by DeniseV
Summary: A sort of missing scene for Shifting Sands and a definite companion piece to my story A Little R&R. Clay needs to get away.


"No. I need to do this alone."  
  
"I don't think you should, Clay," Lt. Colonel Sarah MacKenzie said to her recovering friend and 'husband' during their mission in South America. Though the marriage was only a ruse for the operation at hand, a bond very similar in nature to that sacred union had developed between the two since the shared horror of their time together in Paraguay.  
  
"Sarah, I...there's too much...too many...too many memories. Seeing you...I don't want..."  
  
Clayton Webb was having a hard time telling Mac that he needed time away from her. The one thing he did not want was to be separated from her now. Not now. Seeing her now was the best proof he currently had in his life that the mission to capture Sadik Fahd was not a complete failure. Sure, he still had to live with the knowledge that Rabb had to come free them from the madman's clutches. He could learn to live with that knowledge.  
  
He could never have lived with getting Mac killed.  
  
"Clay," she said gently, grasping his hand carefully. Affectionately. She could sense that she would not like what he had to say. The apprehension she felt holding his hand was frightening. It was so unlike Clay to not say exactly what he wanted. He was a man of confidence and conviction, at least he had been until the CIA banished him to the ends of the earth. What had he said at the hotel in Ciudad del Este? 'For the first time in my life, I don't trust myself. I'm taking too many chances.'  
  
And now it seemed he had made another decision, one so awful that he could barely manage to put two words together to tell her.  
  
"Clay, just tell me," she pleaded, wanting more than anything for the obvious discomfort his decision had brought him to go away.  
  
The concerned eyes of Sarah MacKenzie did nothing to help Clayton Webb find the nerve for what he had to say. Looking into those eyes only served to remind him of what he would be missing come the end of the week.  
  
"I've got to go away."  
  
Mac looked confused. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I need to go somewhere...somewhere that won't constantly remind me..." He couldn't finish, because he knew Mac now understood. Continuing would be like pouring salt on an open wound.  
  
"You...you mean you need to get away from me." She stared at him, Clay knew, despite the fact that his head remained down, their clasped hands having far more fascination to the healing spy.  
  
"I need to be able to think, Sarah. I need to find some peace. Please don't think it has anything to do with you." Clay realized as soon as he said it how very ridiculous it sounded.  
  
"Doesn't it have everything to do with me?" she asked with pained understanding, and needing Clay to explain why not being with her would help. She lowered her head, hoping to capture his attention, needing him to look at her. They had come so far, at least Mac thought they had, these last few weeks. She had hoped their closeness would help him through this difficult period of recuperation. She never dreamed that she might be hampering his recovery.  
  
Clay raised his head wearily to look at the beautiful woman before him. How could he tell her that what he needed meant distancing himself from her? To tell her that she reminded him, every day, of what happened to him. That in order to release himself from those memories, to find the peace his mind so desperately sought, he needed to find some solitude, some measure of quiet.  
  
The images of his own torture were in his dreams constantly since his return from the Chaco Boreal. But even more than that, the conscious vision of the woman who meant so much to him suffering the same fate tore at his soul, denying him the chance to close this dreadful chapter in his life.  
  
He knew that to get beyond this point, to move ahead of the self doubt, the self loathing brought on by his failure, his psyche needed time. It needed healing time away from all of the reminders that Mac's face so innocently wrought.  
  
"Sarah, I'm struggling here. The reminders are too intense. They surround me every day, and I need to get away from them, to give myself the chance to understand their place, their importance to the rest of my life." He looked at her closely as the understanding shown in her face. He was hurting her in pushing her away like this. Hurting Sarah. Again.  
  
Clay squeezed Mac's hand tighter and said, "This is just a...I'm not saying this well at all. I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be sorry. You've been through so much, Clay. It's not surprising that you would need time away from...everything. But I can't lie to you and tell you it's okay. I'll miss you."  
  
"I'm not going away forever. I'm not leaving you," though in his heart he felt that he was.  
  
"I know. I know that, Clay. I know you would never do that. You proved that to me by what you did for me, by protecting me from Sadik."  
  
Sarah MacKenzie saw that his pain still cut deep, but the simple fact that he was able to show her that side of him said so much about Clayton Webb. It was a special man who was willing to expose himself in such a way. It was rare in her experience with the other men in her life. She had waited years for Harm to open up to her like this. There had been moments where she'd seen the possibility of what could be with Harmon Rabb, but as soon as something like it flashed before her it was quickly smothered, darkened as easily as the dousing of a match in a rainstorm.  
  
"I'm glad you understand. And I want you to know that just because I'm going away for a while doesn't mean I'm ending anything. I hope we can continue what we started here." He rubbed her hand softly with his thumb, the emotion of what he was admitting threatening to close off his throat before he could finish what he wanted to say.  
  
"But I think I owe it to you, and to myself, to fix things in my head first."  
  
Tears came to Mac's big brown eyes. She knew how hard it was for Clay to admit weakness. The frustrating physical therapy he dealt with daily to help with the nerve damage was an obvious example. She hoped that wherever he went to heal, he would find the peace he sought.  
  
"I want you better. If this is what it takes, then I'll be waiting for you when you get back." Mac leaned over and kissed his hand, the hand she had kept a tight hold of throughout the spy's painful admission. Clay leaned more forward still, tentatively seeking out Mac's lips. Their mouths touched, and they eased into one another, sharing a kiss that would act as both an end, and hopefully a new beginning.  
  
Some might look at Clay's leaving as going into hiding, a failed operative on the heels of a failed mission running off to lick his wounds. He could do nothing about some people's perceptions, no matter how simplistic that thinking was and no matter how much he wished he could. And sadly, he was fairly certain he could count Rabb in that group. That was a disappointment he would have to deal with at a later time, once he was again healed and whole.  
  
His immediate concern was for Mac and her reaction. His heart and his mind felt more at ease after seeing her compassionate and understanding reaction to his news.  
  
Within a few days, Clayton Webb was heading for his place of quiet, where the peace and beauty of a land and its people would help to soothe his psyche, and his soul.  
  
Quiet  
  
I am heading for a time of quiet  
  
When my restlessness is past  
  
And I can lie down on my blanket  
  
And release my fists at last  
  
I am heading for a time of solitude  
  
Of peace without illusions  
  
When the perfect circle  
  
Marries all beginnings and conclusions  
  
And when they say  
  
That you're not good enough  
  
Well the answer is  
  
You're not  
  
But who are they  
  
Or what is it  
  
That eats at what you've got  
  
With the hunger of ambition  
  
For the change inside the purse  
  
They are handcuffs on the soul, my friends  
  
Handcuffs on the soul  
  
And worse  
  
I am heading for a place of quiet  
  
Where the sage and sweetgrass grow  
  
By a lake of sacred water  
  
From the mountain's melted snow  
  
The End.  
  
Quiet by Paul Simon 


End file.
